


Spectres

by whichclothes



Series: Spectresverse [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-13
Updated: 2010-10-13
Packaged: 2017-10-12 15:37:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/126442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichclothes/pseuds/whichclothes





	Spectres

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

| 

  
[50kinkyways](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/50kinkyways), [nekid numbers](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/nekid%20numbers), [spectres](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spectres), [spike/xander](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike%2Fxander)  
  
  
---|---  
  
**Title:**  Spectres   
 **Chapters** : 1  
 **Pairing:**  Spike/Xander  
 **Rating:**  NC-17  
 **Disclaimer:**  I'm not Joss  
 **Summ** **ary:**  Set sometime in S7. Spike and Xander go to investigate a haunted house. For my October nekid numbers prompts of Xander, haunted house, bat, and striptease, and for the [](http://community.livejournal.com/50kinkyways/profile)[**50kinkyways**](http://community.livejournal.com/50kinkyways/)  prompt of exhibitionist. Thank you to [](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/profile)[**silk_labyrinth**](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/)  for the beta-ing!

 _  
**Spectres (1/1)**   
_

**  
Spectres  
**

 

Spike nimbly stepped out of the way as the boy tripped over a crack in the sidewalk and nearly fell on top of him. “I don’t need a carer,” he growled.

Xander picked himself off the pavement, made a face at the new rip in the knee of his jeans, and hurried to catch up. “Okay, Fangless. One, there are about a zillion other ways I’d rather be spending my night. Two, you kinda _do_ need a babysitter ‘cause you’ve been not so much with the sanity lately. And three, I think Buffy sent us both mainly to get us out of her hair.”

 “We’ve real trouble coming and she sends us after sodding ghosts. Harmless little wisps of ectoplasm.”

“Yeah, well word has it _these_ harmless little wisps of ectoplasm have been luring people into this particular house—and the people aren’t coming back out.”

Spike just scowled in reply and then, as they turned a corner and he got a good look at the place, he came to a sudden halt. Xander bumped into him, mumbled an apology, and then stood next to him, staring at the house. It looked straight out central casting for a haunted house: a Victorian nightmare with towers and cupolas and strangely angled walls that somehow managed to loom threateningly over them while at the same time looking as if it were going to collapse into rubble any moment.

“What the hell’s a place like that doing in Sunnydale?” Xander said. “It’s as old as you are, but there wasn’t even a town here a hundred years ago.”

Spike sighed resignedly. “Mojo, I expect. Ghosts don’t fancy living in a three-bedroom two-bath ranch.”

“Dandy,” Xander said.

Spike led the way through a rusty iron gate, across a weedy front yard with skeletal trees and leafless rose brambles, and up the cracked front stairs. The warped front door was open just a crack as if inviting people in. Spike didn’t need an actual invite, of course, as nobody alive resided there.

They found themselves in a large entry hall. Enough moonlight snuck in through high windows that even Xander could likely see properly, but nonetheless gaslights flickered fitfully in wall sconces. Nice touch, Spike thought. An enormous crystal chandelier hung overhead, festooned liberally with dusty spider webs. The green and black striped wallpaper was peeling badly. Ahead of them was a grand staircase, and doors flanked both sides of the room.

“Looks like somebody’s spent way too much time on the Haunted Mansion ride at Disneyland,” said Xander. He sounded amused, and Spike had to admit a grudging admiration for the boy not being frightened when most other humans would be. Of course, most other humans wouldn’t have a kick-ass vampire at their side.

“Well, the monsters here aren’t animatronic,” Spike replied.

“That’s okay. I always thought those talking presidents were really creepy anyway.”

Spike snorted. “You have the exorcism supplies the witch gave you?”

“Candles, incense, chalk. Check, check, check. She was gonna give me a Bible too, but she’s not up with the King James and she wasn’t sure whether the Old Testament would work; and anyway we were all a little worried about going biblical when I have a vamp sidekick. So we skipped that part. She says it’ll work anyway. She thinks.”

“Not your bloody sidekick,” Spike said, but he was secretly pleased that they’d been willing to forego the Bible on his behalf.

“So where do we do this?”

Spike looked about. “Not here. We need to be more in the heart of the place, I reckon.” He chose one of the side doors at random, turning the cracked glass knob and entering into a long hallway. The space was narrow and the walls were hung with portraits of severe-looking men, the sort of paintings where the eyes followed sinisterly as you passed. The wooden floor was buckled and the ceiling sagged.

“This place is _so_ not up to code.”

“Fancying a bit of reno, whelp?”

“Nah. I got enough going on with replacing the windows at Casa de Summers. Repeatedly. And the high school.”

“Bloody stupid, rebuilding right over the Hellmouth like that.”

“Agreed. Wasn’t my idea. Of course, moving into the Hellmouth-adjacent basement when you’re newly souled up and pretty much loco wasn’t the best idea either.”

“Had nowhere else to go,” Spike said without really meaning to. He didn’t look at Xander to see his response, and they were both silent as they reached the end of the corridor and a pair of ornately carved wooden doors. Spike yanked them open, then hopped back in surprise as something flew out and zoomed over their heads.

Xander screamed.

“Just a bat,” Spike said, swatting at the thing. It flapped about them for a few seconds then disappeared back through the doors.

“Sorry,” Xander said sheepishly. “It took me by surprise. But it could have rabies, you know. Not that you’d care. Unless…vamps can’t catch rabies, can they? ‘Cause that’d be bad news.”

“I’m dead, pillock. Can’t catch anything.”

“Angel got sick that one time, and he’s dead too. Even deader than you, probably, what with the brooding and the slippery soul-having. You’re tons livelier than him.”

Spike shouldn’t have been pleased at the comparison, but he was. Still, that was beside the point. “Peaches was poisoned, not infected. There’s a difference.”

“Well, I’m just glad you can’t get rabies.”

“ _Nobody_ ’s getting rabies. Let’s get this over with, yeah?”

“Okay.”

The doors led into a large parlor containing loads of heavy furniture that reminded Spike uncomfortably of his youth. An enormous and badly moth-eaten Persian carpet covered much of the floor. More of those stupid gas lamps hung on the walls. A fire crackled in the fireplace, but the flames were an unearthly greenish color and gave off no heat. “I reckon this is as good a place as any,” Spike said. “Do your thing.”

“It’s more Willow’s thing, but all right.” Xander began pulling items out of his pockets and piling them onto an ornately carved mahogany occasional table. Spike looked about the room nervously—although he couldn’t see anyone but Xander, he felt a presence nearby. Ghosts, perhaps.

As Xander mumbled to himself and drew chalk symbols on a wall, a bat glided down from the ceiling and disappeared behind a throne-like chair near the fireplace. “Manservant!” said a familiar voice. Both Spike and Xander startled as a figure stepped out from behind the chair.

“Mas—uh, Dracula!” Xander exclaimed, dropping his chalk.

“Oh, bloody hell. What are _you_ doing here again?”

Dracula was dressed as he always was, in his poncy, clichéd cape and white shirt and black trousers. “I came to collect some property. Which, conveniently enough, has wandered right into my hands.” He smiled proprietarily at Xander.

“Hey! I am _not_ your property!”

“I beg to differ, manservant. Now, if you’ll just come this way….”

Xander’s eyes went slightly unfocused and he took an unsteady step in Dracula’s direction.

“Oi!” Spike quickly placed himself between them and he heard Xander behind him grunt with relief. “Don’t let him thrall you. Unless you fancy eating bugs again.”

That made Dracula frown. “How dare you interfere! This is no business of yours, William. I’ll—” He stopped. His frown deepened and he tilted his head. “What have you _done_ , William?”

Spike tightened his jaw. “Nothing.”

But Dracula came closer, still peering intently at him. “You haven’t been molesting my Roma friends again, have you? I would have thought you had learned a lesson from Angelus in that regard.”

Xander popped out from his hiding spot behind Spike to stand beside him. “Hey, I know Angelus, and Spike is no Angelus. Spike _fought_ for his soul.”

Spike glanced over at him, shocked that Xander had defended him like that. Xander glared defiantly at Dracula.

“Very interesting!” Dracula said. “Was it because he’s mine, William?”

“What are you going on about?”

Dracula gestured at Xander. “My manservant. You earned your soul so you could win him over.”

Xander and Spike spluttered in unison. “I bloody well did _not_!”

“I didn’t either! I mean, I already had the soul ‘cause I’m still human, but Spike and me? No way. He’s not my type.”

“Really?” Dracula said with a lifted eyebrow. “I would have thought otherwise.” He closed the space between them so that he was nearly chest-to-chest with Xander.

“Oi! Enough of that!” Spike yanked Xander roughly backward by the arm.

Dracula laughed. “So you do want him.”

“I do not! But the Slayer would tear my head off if I let her Droopy Boy be had by the likes of you.”

“Hey!” Xander protested. “There is to be no having of any kind.”

They both ignored him, glaring at each other. “You can deny it all you want, William, but I know my manservant is to your taste as well. Dark, like that boy you had in Budapest, what was his name? Ah! M  
á  
ty  
á  
s.”

Xander made a small squeaking noise. “A boy? Spike had a _boy_? But I thought—”

Spike turned and snarled at him. “I fancy blokes as well, all right? But I don’t fancy you!”

“Hey! I never said you did—that was the Count here, remember? I don’t fancy you either.” And then, in a slightly hurt tone, he added, “Why don’t you fancy me, anyway?”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, whelp. I—”

“Enough!” Dracula interrupted. “I’ve had enough of the false denials. Clearly you are after what is mine, William, and my manservant has been treacherous.”

“I have not! And I’m not your manservant!”

Dracula waved away the protests. “No matter. Now I shall take my servant and leave this place. Terrible things will be happening here soon.” And with lightning-fast speed he reached out and grasped Xander’s arm, tugging the boy close. Xander struggled for a moment but then made the mistake of looking into Dracula’s eyes; after that, Xander went nearly limp, slumping against Dracula’s chest.

Spike was sorely tempted to just leave. Drac would keep the boy enthralled and the boy would be content enough. Buffy would be angry, of course, but it wasn’t exactly Spike’s fault—she was the one who’d sent Xander here tonight in the first place. Besides, perhaps Dracula was right and Xander was better off far from Sunnyhell.

But Dracula’s mention of M  
á  
ty  
á  
s had stirred up some ancient memories, and when Spike looked at Xander now, those memories gained new life. The boy really did resemble M  
á  
ty  
á  
s, who Spike and Dru had played with for over a year before Dru grew bored and insisted on departing for Prague, leaving M  
á  
ty  
á  
s behind. At least they’d left him alive. Gods, the things they used to do with him—M  
á  
ty  
á  
s all golden-skinned in the firelight, sweating and writhing as Spike plowed into him from behind and Dru fucked his face with her cunt. The way he’d lie between them in bed afterwards, still dazed from pleasure, his warmth seeping into their cold bodies.

Fuck.

“You can’t have him,” Spike said firmly, roughly pulling Xander close. Xander stumbled a bit but didn’t struggle. He blinked rapidly as if trying to focus his eyes.

Dracula chuckled darkly. “You can’t possibly imagine I’ll permit you to simply leave with him.” He gestured sideways with his head, toward the doors through which Spike and Xander had entered. Ghosts were there, blocking the way. Transparent apparitions with silent grimaces and glowing red eyes. More ghosts were arrayed across the room’s other doors.

“You have ghost servants now?”

Dracula shrugged. “Another trick I learned from the Roma.”

“Well, it’s useless, innit. Spirits can’t stop me.”

“No. But they can harm a human, if I tell them to.” Dracula looked significantly at Xander.

“Oh bloody hell.”

Spike thought he might be able to take Dracula in a fight. He wasn’t certain—Dracula was powerful and Spike had been a bit weak lately, what with the soul and all. But it didn’t matter anyway, because if Spike attacked Dracula, the ghosts would be after Xander in a moment. He’d seen what ghosts could do to a human when they were properly motivated. This lot looked motivated.

Dracula didn’t look flustered at all, the sod. He stepped back a bit and stroked his chin with one long, white finger. “I’m a fair man—” he began.

“Not a man at all, wanker. You’re a vampire.”

Dracula rolled his eyes impatiently. “I’m fair. I prefer to give my opponents a sporting chance. It makes life more interesting.”

“You’re _dead_.”

“Unlife, then. Here’s my proposal. I will give you an opportunity to…seduce my manservant. If you can arouse him you may have him. For now, anyway. I’ll reserve the right to repossess him at some later date. But if you cannot arouse him, he is mine. Now and always. And to add a bit to the challenge, you may not touch him or thrall him.”

“Don’t need to bloody thrall—” Spike began, then stopped. He shook his head. “You’re barmy, mate.”

“This is my only offer, William. It should be entertaining, at the least. Refuse and I will destroy you, and he will be mine in any case.”

“Spike?” Xander said, confused. “What’s going on?”

Spike rubbed his face and sighed heavily. “I expect you’re about to have a show, whelp.”

Xander’s next question was drowned out by Dracula, who clapped his hands happily. “Excellent. Manservant, strip.”

“Uh…what?!”

“Remove your clothing.”

Xander wriggled out of Spike’s grasp and backed away. “And that’s a great big no right there,” he said.

“You do not have to _do_ anything, manservant. I simply need an unobstructed view of you so that I may ascertain if William is successful in his seduction.”

“ _What_?!” Xander’s voice hit a note high enough to make both vampires wince.

With a weary sigh, Spike turned to look at him. As calmly as possible, he tried to explain. “You’ve three options, whelp. You can run off into the sunset with Drac here—”

“No way!”

“—or you can make a run for it and let the ghosts rip you apart.”

“My choices aren’t getting any more attractive, Spike!” Xander sounded more than slightly hysterical.

“Or you can let me give you a bit of a show. If I make you hard we both get to go and you can run back to the Slayer and we’ll never speak of this night again. Drac will even take his malevolent phantoms with him, right?”

Dracula nodded. “Of course.”

Xander’s head swung back and forth between Dracula, Spike, and the spooks. “But I’m not— What if you don’t, if I can’t—” He swallowed loudly.

“Still your best alternative, pet. Besides,” Spike ran his palms down his chest and belly, “this sexy body could get anyone hard.”

For a long moment, Spike feared that Xander was going to opt for the ghosts after all. But then the boy let out a noisy breath and gave a jerky nod. “But no naughty touching!”

“Won’t lay a finger on you.”

Xander nodded again and then, with shaking hands and wobbly knees, unfastened his jeans.

“No, my boy,” Dracula clucked. “I want all of you bare.”

Xander blushed furiously. But he also kicked off his shoes and skimmed his trousers down. He shrugged off his jacket and yanked his tee over his head. He stood there, red-faced, in gray socks and yellow silk boxers imprinted with red hearts. Spike raised an eyebrow.

“They were a gift! From Anya, back when we were…a couple years ago.”

“Remove them,” Dracula commanded.

Xander clenched his jaw and stepped out of the boxers. And then almost as an afterthought—and with some awkward hopping involved—he took off his socks. He clenched his hands at his sides and glared at them both, daring them to say anything.

But Spike was…impressed. The boy had been hiding a lovely body beneath his ugly clothing. His shoulders were broad and his chest well-muscled and sprinkled with dark hairs. His arms were deeply tanned, no doubt from his construction work, and they were a nice contrast with the paler skin of his torso and legs. His waist was quite trim nowadays—again, thanks to the work, which counteracted his horrible eating habits—and his legs were strong. And between them, well…. “Now I know what your demon bint saw in you,” Spike leered, because the boy had quite impressive tackle, his soft cock long and thick, his bollocks heavy, the hair at his groin lush and black.

Xander’s face turned impossibly redder and he gave Spike a venomous look. “Let’s get this over with,” Xander growled.

Dracula approached and then, moving so quickly even Spike could barely track him, he bound Xander’s wrists behind his back with a length of silk. “Hey!” Xander cried, struggling to free himself.

Dracula set a hand on Xander’s shoulder. “I only want to ensure that you don’t help things along yourself.” Then he pushed Xander down into a chair with dark green upholstery.

“I swear, Spike, if you breathe one word of this to Buffy or Willow or Giles….”

“No worries. Not a word,” Spike promised. “Don’t really fancy them learning about this adventure myself.”

Xander nodded again, squeezed his eyes shut very tightly, and then opened them and looked at Spike expectantly.

Right, then. The thing was, Spike was good at seduction. He’d seduced Buffy, hadn’t he? But he didn’t want to think of that, not at all; it made that voice inside his head—his soul, his conscience, something like that—gibber angrily at him. But long before her, before the bloody chip, he’d enticed people then as well. With his body, with his voice. Sometimes with only a smile. He’d used himself to charm them, to lure them into a quiet, secluded place. Where they’d promptly become prey. No, he didn’t want to think of those times either.

So Spike stopped thinking.

Dracula took a few steps back and then draped himself regally across a hideous floral settee. Spike ignored him, instead maintaining eye contact with Xander, who was squirming uncomfortably in his seat. Spike willed the ice in his eyes to warm a bit, allowed brief sparks of yellow to flash through. And then, with a sinuous roll of his shoulders, he shrugged off his duster. It pooled darkly on the floor.

He wished there was music. Ah, well.

As Xander watched, wide-eyed, Spike slowly smoothed the palm of his left hand down, over his chest, across his flat stomach, over his waistband. He rubbed a bit over his groin and felt himself harden. Not just from his own touch, but from the sight of the naked boy seated in front of him, looking simultaneously terrified, embarrassed, and intrigued. Spike curled his tongue behind his teeth and smiled.

There was really no scintillating way to take off Docs. Just couldn’t be done, not even with vampire superpowers. All those bloody laces. Spike did his best, though. He turned his back to Xander and propped one foot on a petit-point seat cushion, giving a nice view of his denim-clad arse. When the boot was loosened enough he pulled it off, then did the same on the other foot. The rug felt slightly clammy under his toes, as if the wool had got soaked and never quite dried.

Xander stared at Spike’s bare feet as if he’d never seen anything like them before. Spike wiggled his toes, and saw the boy’s eyes dilate a bit. Huh. A bit of a kink, perhaps. Interesting, but now wasn’t the time to explore that.

He drew Xander’s gaze back upward with a small shimmy of his shoulders and then he slowly pulled off his red over-shirt, letting it fall on top of the duster. Again his hand wandered over the cotton stretched tightly across his torso, this time joined by the other hand as well, and he took a moment or two to tweak at his nipples until they poked stiffly at the material. They weren’t the only bits poking stiffly—his jeans were beginning to feel uncomfortably tight.

Spike was getting off on this.

No big surprise there. He hadn’t had a leg over in—well, in ages. And he always did fancy being the center of attention like this, watching others watch him, as if he could see himself reflected in their eyes if he only tried hard enough. And Xander was still flushed and bound and gorgeous. No, this wasn’t such a terrible task at all. If only he could convince Xander of that as well, at least enough to get the boy hard. Because Xander was watching him, all right, but Xander’s cock was still curled softly against his thigh; the fear and humiliation were too strong right now for anything more to happen with his body.

Spike could sort that. He raised his arms until the hem of his t-shirt escaped his jeans, revealing just a flash of pale skin above his waistband. Then he grasped the hem with both hands. He pulled it up slowly, teasingly, sometimes stopping and pushing it back down an inch or two, until finally it was up to his armpits, and then he drew it over his head and tossed it away.

Perhaps belatedly, he realized that Dracula hadn’t forbidden him from speaking. He pitched his voice low and raspy, just barely loud enough for Xander to hear without straining. “You fancy what you see, whelp? My skin’s soft, you know, as soft as any bird’s, but the muscles underneath are hard like marble. You could touch me like this—” he stroked his chest slowly, “and it would be like petting a statue dressed in silk, until the heat from your hand sank into me, warming me, loosening me.”

Xander’s Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed.

“You like your partners strong, don’t you, pet? Lean and sinewy. Like me.”

Xander nodded a bit and Spike wasn’t sure if the boy was even aware he was doing it.

“Well, I’m bloody strong. You could shag me all night long, really pound into me with that monster between your legs, and not have to worry a bit about bruising me, breaking me. Not that I’m bothered by a bit of pain with my pleasure, mind you. Makes it all sweeter, it does.” And to demonstrate, he twisted at his nipples and dug a nail in just hard enough to make a single drop of blood bead on his skin and inch slowly down. He heard Dracula’s sharp intake of breath and he smiled broadly.

Xander’s cock gave a small twitch as if it were just waking up from a long sleep. Spike’s smile grew even more. The boy was a bit bent. Maybe Anya had done it to him, or maybe he’d been like that when she found him, on account of a childhood spent on the Hellmouth with fucking horrible parents. Didn’t matter. But it was nice, Spike thought. He wondered how far he could push this one—or be pushed by him—given enough time and the right opportunities.

But perhaps Xander noticed the speculative gleam in Spike’s eyes because he shifted in his chair again, blinking rapidly. Time to move along, then.

Spike's hands crept slowly down to his waist like lazy spiders and then they unbuckled his belt. He stuck just his left hand under the denim and stroked himself a few times, throwing his head back and moaning slightly at his own touch. He hadn’t even had a proper wank in ages. Hadn’t been in any condition for it, what with the arduous journey to Africa and the trials he underwent there, then the even more difficult journey back to California and the insanity and the general sense of impending doom. This felt good. Not as good as someone else’s hand would feel—either warm or cold; small and smooth or large and rough—but good nonetheless.

“Have you ever felt another bloke’s cock, Xander? It feels quite different to your own. And mine…I’m not cut. You could do what I am right now; tug my foreskin back and forth, feel it shift under your fingers, feel it reveal my crown. I’m already wet, love, just looking at you, thinking of you touching me.”

“You could so have a job in phone sex,” Xander said hoarsely.

Spike chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind. But over the phone, you wouldn’t see me. Wouldn’t see _this_.” He popped open the top button of his flies, then the second. His jeans fell low on his hips, revealing the glistening head of his cock. Xander gasped softly and his cock twitched again, more vigorously this time.

Spike wiggled a bit, encouraging his trousers to drop even farther, and then turned around. He knew that Xander would see the top curve of his buttocks, the beginning of the dark cleft that promised more treasures within. He unfastened the jeans the rest of the way and shook his arse slowly and the trousers slipped down, all the way off his hips and down his thighs, fully revealing his backside. It was, he’d been told more than once, a fairly spectacular backside. It had fascinated Angelus, who used to enjoy caressing it, then hitting it until the skin was hot and red, then sinking into it. Once Spike had jettisoned his Victorian sensibilities, he hadn’t minded at all.

“You like that, Xan?” he asked, looking over his shoulder. “Can you almost feel it? Squeezing it in your hands. Having it grind against you, sliding, pushing, until you’ve breached me. Feel yourself sheathed inside. I’d be so tight around you, love. Always tight for you.”

Xander made a sort of strangled sound and his cock began to fill in earnest, finally awakened from its kip.

Spike turned back toward the wall and quickly stepped out of the jeans so that he was as naked as Xander. He kept his back turned to the boy, his legs spread and his hips rocking slightly. His cock was aching, standing up and begging for attention, and he wrapped one hand around it and stroked a few times. Then he bent at the waist and reached behind to spread his cheeks, revealing his twitching little hole.

“God,” Xander groaned.

“See how much I want you, Xan? Hungry for you. If I could, I’d drape myself on your lap right now, impale myself on you, ride you until you screamed. And then…perhaps I’d climb off and bend you over that chair and sink into you. Christ, the heat of you! You’d feel me all the way in your core, stretching, filling.”

Spike realized with a start that he was very close to climaxing. He stood up straight and turned around. Xander’s pupils were blown wide. His mouth hung open a bit and his chest moved rapidly up and down with panting that echoed off the parlor walls. His cock was stiff and straight now, the glans an angry-looking dark red. As Spike watched, a drop of shining liquid formed at the very tip. Spike licked his lips, wishing very much that he could taste.

Spike grabbed his own cock again and began to strip it quickly, almost savagely. His breaths were ragged now, too. “Do…do you want it, love? Do you…do you want me?”

“Yes,” Xander whispered, and Spike came hard. Sticky fluid spattered his chest and smeared over his hand, his knees went a bit weak, and his vision sparkled with colored lights. He staggered back a few steps until he was up against the wall and he fought to regain his composure.

“You _are_ good,” said a voice from the side. Oh. Dracula. Spike had nearly forgotten he was there.

“Of course I’m bloody good, wanker.” Spike rubbed his sticky hand on his thigh and grabbed his discarded jeans. He pulled them on quickly, wincing slightly as he buttoned them over the mess at his groin. He found his t-shirt as well, and his over-shirt and duster, and lastly he jammed his feet into his Docs, not bothering with the laces. Once he was fully dressed he turned and glared at Dracula. “Right, then. Clearly, I won our little wager. So call off your ghosties and bugger off.”

Dracula sighed. “Yes, I suppose so. It’s a pity, really. My manservant is very beautiful. And so responsive! Well, another time. I did enjoy your performance, at least.”

Spike growled.

Xander had managed to get to his feet and he stood there with his wrists still tied behind him and his erection half-wilted. “Uh, Spike? Help?” He blushed again. If it weren’t for the sodding soul Spike would have had him right then and right there.

Spike stomped over to him and untied the silk that bound his hands. They both hissed when Spike inevitably made contact with his skin. As soon as he was loose, Xander jerked away and then scrambled for his clothes. He ignored the boxers and yanked his trousers on so viciously that Spike found himself flinching a bit. A few moments of fumbling later and Xander was fully dressed as well.

The ghosts still guarded the doorway. “Now, tosser,” Spike said to Dracula.

Dracula made a small face and waved his hand negligently. The ghosts faded away.

“And you’re gonna leave Sunnydale, right?” Xander asked. “You and your haunts? ‘Cause if you don’t, Buffy—”

“I’m a demon of my word, manservant. I shall leave at sundown tomorrow. You and I, however, will meet again someday—assuming you survive what’s coming.”

“Great. Something to look forward to.” Xander walked out the doors and down the hall.

Spike paused to give Dracula a last look. “You still owe me eleven quid.”

“Consider us even, a payment for what I’ve just lent you.” Dracula gestured in the direction of Xander’s departing back. “Enjoy while you can, William. And if you ever wish to leave all these silly humans, well, perhaps another visit with me would be nice.”

Spike snorted. “Not bloody likely.”

He followed Xander down the corridor, through the entrance hall, and out through the yard. They walked side by side down the pavement, neither of them speaking. Spike dug in his coat and pulled out a cigarette and lighter; he lit the fag and took a few deep puffs.

“Look, whelp. You know what I did back there, what I said—”

“Yeah, I know,” Xander spat angrily. “What fun! It’s the Humiliate Xander Show. Always tops in the ratings.”

Spike blinked in surprise and Xander got several steps ahead, so that Spike had to hurry to catch up. He dropped his cigarette and grabbed at Xander’s shoulder, but Xander shook him off. Spike grabbed again, more firmly. “Wait!” Spike said.

Xander stopped in his tracks, staring sullenly down at his shoes. “What? Not finished yet? Go on, then, yuck it up. Too bad you didn’t take pictures to share with the girls.”

“What the bloody hell are you on about? Dracula made me do that. You _chose_ that option. I bloody well saved you from him or the ghosts.”

“Yeah, and I liked it, didn’t I? You stripped and talked dirty and I liked it.”

Spike shook his head in honest confusion. “So? I’m the one walking home with a mess in my trousers. Whelp— _Xander,_ what I said back there, those filthy words…yeah, I was putting on a show, but I wasn’t lying. I wasn’t thinking of anyone but you while I stood there and touched myself, while I came.”

Xander finally looked up at that. His eyes were wide and shocked. “But you and Buffy—”

“Past. Buggered that up, didn’t I? Not that I ever had a chance, really. She’s willing to put up with me now because she has other concerns on her mind, but I don’t expect she’ll ever forgive me, ever want me. Nor will you. I know what I am.” He gave a small, humorless laugh. “Beneath you. Beneath you all.”

He let his hand drop from Xander’s shoulder. “I won’t tell anyone,” Spike said quietly. Then he turned on his heel, heading away.

This time, though. Xander caught up to him, placing himself squarely in Spike’s path. “Wait. Home’s the other way. Where are you going?”

Spike shrugged. “Willy’s.” Perhaps he could drink enough to forget for a time.

“Don’t. Come home. I’ll even let you shower first, okay?”

Spike tilted his head at the boy.

Xander took a deep breath. “Look, there’s a lot going on right now and it’s so not a good time for…for anything that adds to the weirdness, because my weirdness levels are pretty much already set on eleven. But if we’re all lucky, this apocalypse too shall pass and then I can move on to…to different weirdnesses. And maybe I’ll find out they’re not so weird after all. But for now…remember how I said no touching, back there? One small exception.” And to Spike’s complete astonishment, Xander leaned in and gave him a warm, sweet kiss on the lips. Not deep and passionate, but hardly chaste either. A sort of…promise, maybe.

After a moment, Xander pulled away with a smile. “Man, I could murder a couple of Hot Pockets right now. Let’s go home, Spike.”

Spike turned around and they walked side by side, not quite touching. Perhaps, Spike thought, he’d forgive Dracula that eleven quid after all.

 

 _  
~~~fin~~~  
_

 

  



End file.
